“That was cruel, my lady, but I should have known Drake would not marry a simpleton.” He examined the infants now clutched in three sets of arms. He chortled as he came to the dark-haired, heavyset toddler in Eileen’s arms. The twins had been dangerously small at birth and had only now gained the size George had been when he was born. The differences between their fair tininess and George’s husky darkness was marked in the extreme.
“There is no difficulty in telling which is mine. The old man must have paid a hefty sum to persuade Drake to accept him. I cannot see my cousin taking in my progeny willingly.”
Instead of taking George, Edmund turned to the young nurse holding Richard. Swaddled in layers of blankets, he was no more than a bundle of cloth that Edmund removed with ease from the girl’s arms. Eileen grabbed for her son, but Edmund shook his head, holding the babe at a careless angle.
“Stay back, my lady. You have interfered enough as it is.” He gestured at the young nurse. “Take my son from the lady.”
As Eileen reluctantly surrendered the wide-awake infant to the nurse, she watched Edmund in bewilderment. “What do you want? Why have you come here?”
Dark eyes regarded her with hatred. “I have come for my son. And to keep you from interfering, I will take yours also. I will remind you how easily an infant can be injured, even killed, if carelessly handled. Do not give me reason to act in haste.”
Cold hands of fear ripped at Eileen’s insides, but she held herself with icy control. “I do not understand.”
The nursemaids stared at her with terror but they would not act without her direction. With Richard dangling from Edmund’s hand, she must be cautious. “We have no intention of harming your son,” she continued. “Had you come here with Lord Westley, I would gladly have surrendered him to you. I only sought to protect him.”
“That is not likely to happen and we both know it; that is why I’m taking matters in my own hands. Westley will have to deal with me while I hold his precious grandson, and I venture to say my cousin will be eager to persuade him should I hold his son and heir. Stay out of my way and do not interfere and the darling cherubs will be back in your nursery soon.”
Eileen felt her heart being torn from her chest as Edmund signaled to the maid to leave first. She could not let the child from her sight, but she dared not stop him.
She teetered on the brink of indecision. If she should scream or attack him, it would be so easy for Edmund to swing his tender burden against a wall or drop him down a stairway. But if she kept silent and did nothing, she might never see her son again. She could not live with herself either way. Her fingernails bit into her palms as Edmund marched his hostages out the door.
Elizabeth stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hands resting on the wheelchair in which Diane sat, both their gazes turned upward to the scene unfolding before them. Edmund shifted his tiny burden into the crook of his arm and held it out over the railing as he proceeded downward, the nursemaid carrying his son before him.
“I’ll take leave of you, ladies. Follow Lady Sherburne’s example and do not interfere and all will be well. I’d recommend not sending anyone after us. The brats will be fine as long as I have my way.”
Elizabeth pulled Diane from his path and Edmund passed them by. A footman scurried to open the door, his eyes wide with fear, but a glance from Eileen warned him to silence. She stood white and frozen, clinging to the handrail as the door opened and Edmund’s little procession stepped out.
The door swung closed, and they were gone.
Chapter 29
The instant the door closed on Edmund and the infants, Eileen transformed into a whirlwind. Racing down the stairs, she ordered servants to find Michael, saddle horses, and send for Drake. Without breaking stride, she grabbed a cloak and flew out the side entrance toward the stable.
The stable boys had only succeeded in bridling a horse by the time she arrived, and Eileen had no patience for waiting. She could hear Edmund’s carriage bolting down the drive to the front gates. She must know which way he turned when he reached the road. She grabbed the back hem of her skirt and pulled it between her legs to tuck into her waistband. Without a saddle she would have to ride astride.
The astonished stable hand protested as Eileen demanded to be lifted to the horse’s back, but at her curt demand, he gave in. She had not been on horseback in nearly a year and was in no physical condition now, but the two babes in Edmund’s hands drove her.
She heard yells of protest from the house as she kicked the mare into a gallop, but she didn’t linger to argue. The horse tore down the drive after the carriage.
She reached the road just in time to see Edmund’s vehicle disappear around the bend to the right. It was easy enough to keep in the shadows of the trees bordering the front lawns of the estate, but when she came to the first of the fields, Eileen had to hold back her mount until the carriage rattled around the next bend.
In this manner—hiding behind trees and curves and hills—she followed the escaping carriage for miles and hours. She had no knowledge of the surrounding countryside, had never strayed farther than the Neville estates when she had visited before, and could not tell where Edmund headed other than west. She wished for some means of leaving a trail for Michael and the others to follow, but she had none. She could only pray that the occasional passerby would heed her cry and forward word to Sherburne.
As the sun descended, Eileen shivered. She wore a fur-lined cloak but had wasted no time searching for hat or gloves. Her fingers were red and raw from the chapping effects of wind and cold. She feared her nose had turned to icicles. Still, the carriage rolled on, and she doggedly trailed along at a distance. She dared to follow closer as darkness obscured the landscape. The carriage slowed as they neared a village.
As the lumbering vehicle veered into the yard of the local inn, Eileen rode down an alley. From behind the inn stable, she could watch the occupants without being seen. The driver climbed down and rubbed his gloved hands together to warm them, then wandered in the direction of the welcoming tavern light. Eileen held her weary mount, waiting for the occupants to step from the carriage.
No one stepped out.
Furious tears leapt to Eileen’s eyes as she realized what Edmund had done. Somewhere back there in those long stretches of open field when she could not come close, he had directed the carriage to stop and taken his hostages into hiding. By the time Eileen had been able to ride down the road out of sight of the carriage, they had gone.
Anger and dismay warred within her as she considered the miles of road they had traversed. Every muscle of her body ached. The wind had torn her hair from its pins and it whipped at her frozen face. She had only just begun to recover her strength and this ride had drained what little she possessed. Her hands could barely bend to hold the reins any longer. How could she go on?
She knew she should turn back to Sherburne. There she could wait for Drake’s arrival and tell him the direction Edmund had taken. But Drake might not arrive for days and Michael would already be out searching. She was the only one with any knowledge of where the babes might be. She could not desert them.
Eileen fed and watered her horse, then returned the way they had come. There were several places Edmund might have chosen to go into hiding, but the one by the wooden bridge seemed most likely. She had waited for what seemed like eternity behind a hill until the carriage had crossed the river and disappeared down a crossroads. It would have been easy to hide horses at the river bank. Edmund could not have walked away with a nurse and two infants. There had to be horses waiting. Tracing their path from the bridge would be the hard part.
Her breasts ached for the twins’ hungry suck, and Eileen knew all the babes would be crying from hunger by now. The young wet nurse she had hired to help with the twins would not have enough milk for both those hungry boys. Edmund had chosen the wrong nurse to take with him. It did not bear thinking what would happen when the infants’ incessant crying began to anger their abductor.
The cold had numbed her fingers and toes until Eileen no longer knew they existed. Her teeth chattered and her legs ached so that she feared she would not be able to stand should she ever manage to get off the horse. She had given no thought to her own meals, but she had survived hunger before.
Tears ran down her cheeks as she reached the bridge at dusk and had no idea in which direction to turn. She had followed the carriage to the left at the crossroads, but they could have taken either of the other two directions or followed the river and cut across country. Waves of weariness swept over her, and she wanted only to climb from the horse and curl up on the warm planks of the sheltered bridge.
She knew she could not go on any longer, but stubbornness made her turn the horse down the rutted path leading toward a copse of trees in the valley. A hint of light shone through the bare branches, signaling a farmhouse. She would seek shelter and set out again in the morning.
The path grew tangled and full of briars as she tried to follow it in darkness. At times she lost it altogether, but she kept the horse turned toward the light. Once inside the copse of trees even this signal became obscured, but she had come too far to turn back. Uneasiness clawed at her weary nerves.
No dogs yapped a warning as she approached the squat, square shape of an abandoned hunting lodge. A candle glimmered deep in the interior. No hearty fire roared in the chimneys. No voices called to each other. Thick, despairing silence reigned. Until an infant’s wail broke the stillness.
Weary exultation warmed her. She had found them. Eileen halted her mount near a fallen tree and painfully eased down. She ached in places she had not known could ache. Her legs crumpled, but she clung to the tree until she steadied herself. The bark tore at her ungloved hands, but it no longer mattered. She had found her son.
Eileen inched near the house, searching for other signs of life and means of entry. Blank dark windows provided no clues. She eased around the corner to the next side. The mortar between the stones crumbled on this side. An avalanche of stones created a mound of rubble beneath one window. Still, she could not find the source of light.
She tripped over another stone and barely muffled her cry. Toe throbbing, she reached the rear corner of the house. She was rewarded with the smell of wood smoke and a pattern of light across the hard-packed dirt of the kitchen yard. The inhabitants had gathered in the kitchen.
Holding her breath, Eileen stood on tiptoe to peer in the rear window. At first glance, she could see nothing but a crude, weathered board table and the embers of a fire in a wide, crumbling fireplace. An infant cried in another room, but for one brief, hopeful minute, she thought Edmund may have left them alone. That hope was shattered an instant later when he emerged through a doorway and poked at the embers.
And then rough hands covered her mouth and grabbed her by the waist and carried her kicking and screaming in the back door.
Edmund scowled as his driver dumped her on the cold flagstone floor.
The rotund man in the tricorne and swarthy face spit in his rough palms and rubbed them together. “She be peering in the glass, sirrah. I’ll be back to my horses now.” With a brief doff of his hat, the driver shuffled out the door.
“You damned, interfering bitch!” Edmund glared as Eileen pushed up from the floor. “You’ve ruined everything!”
Eileen rested a hand on the table, balancing her unsteadiness as she returned Edmund’s glare. “Where is my son?”
Incredulous, Edmund stared at her. “You don’t have any idea what you have done, do you?”
“And I don’t care.” In that moment, she meant it. She knew Richard’s cry and she wanted only to answer it. The tall man blocking her way had no meaning to her other than an obstruction. Only the fury in his dark eyes and the width of his broad frame compelled her to listen. “I begin to understand why de Lacy wished to be rid of you! You give no thought to the conventions, do you? Even the tiniest of terriers could worry a stag to the ground. Drake would be well rid of you.”
Eileen tried not to cringe as a malevolent smile formed on Edmund’s lips.
With a bow he indicated the door through which he had just entered. “Your son is in there, madam. I recommend you join him.”
Rage and fear whipped through Drake as he read the message from Sherburne. How was this possible? They had seen Edmund off on a ship to Plymouth a week ago. He should be well on his way to the colonies by now. He could not be at Sherburne.
But he knew as surely as he held this sheet of paper that Edmund had found a way to disembark before the ship left England. He raised cold eyes to the messenger who had delivered this news, and the lad shivered and stepped backward.
“Order my horse,” Drake commanded, turning from the messenger and back into his chambers. The one tangible bond he had relied on to hold Eileen to him had been stolen. To lose those children would be to lose his wife. He could spare neither.
He should have returned home as soon as he had seen Edmund sail off. But papers had to be drawn on the land for Eileen’s cottage. It had taken time for the surprise he meant to give her, and while he waited, he’d agreed to an interview with the Duke of Newcastle. It had seemed reasonable to wait until he had the deed in his pocket and Hogarth’s sketch in his hands before returning home to the joyous welcome he expected.
Not once had his thoughts turned to disaster.
Drake strapped on the brace of pistols and removed his sword and scabbard from the wall. This time he would have to kill the bastard.
Chapter 30
Auguste Monsard shouted in relief as Drake strode into the study shortly before midnight. The cry died on his lips, however, as he read the stormy blue of his cousin’s eyes and noted the weapons of war his easygoing cousin never wore. The lamp flickered on the desk, throwing shadows over the exhausted circles of Drake’s eyes and the grim line of his mouth. Had he been Edmund, Auguste would have fainted of fear.
“What news?” Drake demanded without preliminaries.
“We know what direction they took. We’ve traced the carriage,” Auguste offered. Then, with hesitation, he produced the folded vellum lying on the desk. “Michael says there may be just enough in the bank if we withhold payment of some of the bills, sell some of the West Indies stock, and persuade a loan from the banker for the difference. It is an amount beyond my ability to imagine.”
Drake ripped the letter from Auguste’s hand and scanned it. A ransom note. Edmund must have taken leave of his senses. They had found him a respectable position in the colonies, offered him a reasonable allowance, and he threw it in their faces. The amount was truly astronomical. He would have to mortgage Sherburne to operate until the crops came in next year. But then, Edmund had a very good notion of what Sherburne was worth. He would have to pay it. Eileen would never forgive him if he tried anything else.
Drake’s tired eyes lingered over the odd wording of the message. Why did he refer to “their” safe return? Surely Edmund did not mean to ransom his own son?
“Has Lord Westley received one of these?” Drake waved the missive before flinging it to the desk.
“He’s gone to London to confer with his bankers. He promised to be back on the morrow.”
“Did Eileen go with him?” It seemed unusual that she would not be here, waiting for news. The only logical conclusion was that she could not wait but had taken matters in her own hands and gone to London.
Auguste’s eyes widened, and he sat with a thump in the leather desk chair. He stammered and reached for the decanter of wine. “No. . . I thought you knew. Let me take you to Michael. We were just waiting. . .”
Drake pinned him to the chair. “Thought I knew what? Where is Eileen!”
With awful, dreadful certainty, he knew, but he had to hear it for himself. She would never have waited idly. He had been right about that.
“She went after them,” Auguste whispered.
“And?” Drake demanded.
“She has not returned.”
Drake slammed
his fist into the tapestry-covered wall. Had it not been for the heavy cloth and the pocket of air behind it, he would have shattered half the bones in his hand. As it was, he merely tore the hanging loose and bruised his knuckles. His rage continued unabated. The stream of invectives he laid upon the cloth, the wall, his cousin, and his wife welled from an imagination and vocabulary of brilliant capacity. Auguste cringed but breathed easier.
Lady de Lacy waited on the stairway as they left the study. Wrapped in a velvet dressing gown borrowed from her daughter, her auburn hair gleaming in the light of a bed candle, she created a ghostly image that nearly stunned Drake into silence. Recovering, he bowed before his wife’s mother.
Waving away any polite phrases, Elizabeth demanded, “I do not know your cousin Edmund. What kind of man is he? Will he hurt them?”
“Edmund is too clever to get himself hung. He will not hurt them, no.” He answered her question but did not give her the entire truth. Edmund would never do what he could persuade others to do for him. The lady was too overwrought to be told that. “My sister?” he inquired. “Is she sleeping?”
“The physicians have given her laudanum. She blames herself for not thinking faster, and for being unable to act. But there is nothing she could have done.”
Drake heard the accusation in her voice and acknowledged it. He should have been the one to protect them. She could not blame him any more than he blamed himself.
His fury rung in his reply. “Tell Diane I have gone to bring them home.”
Swinging on his boot heels, he strode out with murder on his mind.
Eileen waited until the house was still and dark. The young nursemaid slept with the two infants beside her on the large bed in the upstairs room they had been given. She’d spent the day doing nothing but pace the floor. Now that night had arrived again, she was ready.
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